


Little Girl At Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Desperation, Diapers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lactation Kink, Non-Sexual Age Play, Praise Kink, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Somehow, Rachel always seemed to know just exactly where Quinn’s mindset fell.





	Little Girl At Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a Faberry fic... it must be 2010.
> 
> Combine that with some of the kinks that are in this fic and I am once again vastly out of my comfort zone. I wanted to prove to myself that I could write something like this, and do it (hopefully) well. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to tell me what you think at dramatricks.tumblr.com.
> 
> This is tagged with lactation kink but there is no actual feeding involved.

In hindsight, having that extra-large sweet tea before she’d left work hadn’t been Quinn’s best idea.

The train, only fifteen minutes from home, had ground to a noisy, unexpected halt thirty minutes earlier, and it was only now that Quinn realized what a desperate situation she was in.

She had to _go_.

She was exhausted. Worn out, bone-tired, stressed. Work was generally easygoing and light; today, not so much. Quinn was biding her time before the publication of her own first novel by being an editor for a local magazine, and normally she could pace herself and spread all of her work out over the day. But for some reason the whole week had been insane. She’d barely had fifteen minutes to gulp down lunch, and had traded her usual water for the extra sugary boost of tea.

Now she was paying for it.

It was a hot New York summer day, and Quinn had nothing on except for her bright yellow sundress, and clutched in her hands was the blue cardigan she sometimes wore in the office when the air conditioning went into overdrive. She was wringing the fabric as she crossed and uncrossed her legs, praying for the train to start moving again.

Luckily there weren’t that many people near the back of the train that might catch on to what was happening. Normally, she _planned_ for this sort of thing. The doctor said it sometimes happened when you’d been pregnant and given birth. She’d also explained very gently that it might be related to stress and anxiety. Both the medicine for her bladder _and_ for her nerves had seemed to be working well. She made sure to keep extra pads in her bag. To wear one when she felt particularly uneasy. To _not_ gulp down a 32 ounce sweet tea before leaving work for the day.

Usually.

“Come on, come on,” Quinn muttered to herself, shifting in her seat as she felt herself leak, just a little.

All she wanted was to get _home_. Get home, use the bathroom, chill out for the rest of the day with dinner and a movie.

_And_ her favorite petite brunette. Quinn managed to smile, as she always did when she thought of her wife, off for the day and waiting for _her_. It still blew Quinn’s mind, that Rachel Berry had chosen her.

“I’m going to ask you to marry me at some point just to shut you up,” Quinn had said off-handedly, one day when she and Rachel were sitting on a bench in Central Park.  She was 20, Rachel had been 19. Quinn had meant it as a joke, a silly aside to their ridiculous sarcastic sniping at each other that they still hadn’t seemed to be able to let go of, even though McKinley seemed light years away.

They weren’t dating. But they were friends, and Quinn considered herself lucky enough for even that.

But Rachel had looked up at her, her brown eyes serious under dark eyelashes, and something in the intensity of her gaze unsettled Quinn.

“But what’ll you do when I say yes?” Rachel challenged, and Quinn’s mouth had gone dry.

“I—“ For the first time since she was seventeen, Quinn let herself dream about life with Rachel.

“Kiss you,” she finally decided, feeling the blush spread on her cheeks as she imagined it. “And I’ll never stop.”

And Rachel had taken Quinn’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Her smile was dazzling, and Quinn knew everything had changed.

“That’ll definitely shut me up. Temporarily.”

True to Quinn’s prediction, she hadn’t stopped kissing Rachel. Every morning when she woke up, every night before she went to bed. Entwined together in the heat of the moment or just pressed up against each other in the kitchen as they prepared dinner. Any time, every time. There was never a moment when she had an excuse _not_ to kiss the woman she loved so much it bordered on painful. Now she was thirty and still every single kiss felt like that first one years ago.

Her mind was rudely and abruptly torn from the pleasant thoughts of her wife when finally, the train lurched back on its way towards home. But to Quinn’s horror that one, jerkish movement was all her body needed to give up its struggle.

She felt the warmth spread along her dress as her bladder released; with a choked sound in the back of her throat Quinn draped the cardigan over her lap, eyes closed against the realization that she was actually _wetting herself_ on the fucking subway. She didn’t dare reopen them until she was finished, glancing frantically around to make sure no one had noticed that her dress was soaked, that there was a small puddle pooling around her feet.

Physically, she felt so much better. Her bladder tensed one last time and Quinn let out a whimper and decided that since no one had noticed, she might as well let go with one last trickle. Now it seemed as if the train crawled with infuriating slowness to its destination; in her humiliation Quinn was crying as they reached the station and she could tumble out into the afternoon and run for the apartment she shared with her wife.

She left her cardigan on the seat, drenched with the sticky-salt of her loss of control. They’d think some homeless person had done it. Quinn wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. She was overreacting but she felt as if she could smell herself as she ran along the sidewalk, dodging people and shouts of “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

She didn’t bother with the elevator once she was in their lobby; together they made enough money to score at least a second floor apartment, and Quinn took the stairs two at a time. She was sobbing so hard she could barely get the keys out to unlock the door, slamming it behind her as she felt herself deflate.

“This isn’t a _barn_ , you know!” Came Rachel’s admonishing voice from the kitchen. “Honestly, Quinn, you’re going to tear it off its hinges if you keep this up.”

She came into the living room, then, just in time to see Quinn slide to the floor all wet dress and tears, curling herself around her knees and burying her face.

“Oh, _honey._ ”

Something about the sweetness in Rachel’s voice made Quinn cry even harder; she couldn’t even see Rachel’s expression as a soft touch caressed her chin and lifted it up, but she knew it was washed in concern.

“No, shh, _shh_ , it’s all right, don’t cry.” Quinn sniffled, feeling a dish towel being lightly pressed to her eyes, dabbing away at her embarrassment.

“What happened, Quinn?”

“Got stuck on the train,” she mumbled. “I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry…”

She apologized, every time this happened. Which really wasn’t a lot, because most of Quinn’s preparations had been because of Rachel. Quinn had almost broken up with Rachel the first time, because if there was something Rachel Berry didn’t deserve, it was her girlfriend pissing everywhere when she got too worked up to control herself.

And, Quinn had guiltily admitted, she was afraid Rachel might have used it against her. Quinn had bullied Rachel relentlessly when they were teenagers, after all. Although she knew Rachel wasn’t that sort of person, and the hurt in Rachel’s eyes when Quinn had told her was proof of it, Quinn couldn’t help but worry. Especially when they’d ended up working out _other_ things.

But Rachel had thrown herself into helping Quinn, insisting on doctors appointments and medications, the pads and being just so infinitely gentle that Quinn didn’t understand why God liked her enough to give her someone like Rachel.

Through her subsiding tears Quinn could see her wife shake her head. “We don’t apologize for accidents, remember?” she said, and Quinn nodded forlornly in response.

“I ruined the sweater you got me,” she said. Rachel leaned over to press a kiss to Quinn’s forehead.

“I know all about where to buy sweaters, so we don’t need to worry about that.” She smiled slightly, grateful for the joke.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up.” Rachel regarded Quinn cautiously, not standing up from her knees quite yet.

“Do you need to be little tonight, sweetie?”

Quinn bit her lip and looked away. She didn’t want to be. Oh, but she so desperately wanted to be. Really, she couldn’t help but feel so incredibly small, sat on the floor in soaked clothes.  She let out a resigned but relieved sigh.

“Yes, please.”

She felt Rachel’s hand in her hair, tucking the strands behind Quinn’s ear before she lifted so damn gracefully to her feet and extended her hand down to her wife.

“Up we go then, baby, come on now.” Rachel’s voice had taken on a different tone, soft and demanding melding together in a pitch that signaled the playtime Quinn needed had begun.

“I’m still sorry.”

She was reminded of an accident she had when she was five, at school. Of having her mother pick her up in her wet clothes and quietly saying “We’ll take care of this when your father gets home.” She’d had to wait nearly two hours before she found herself over his lap for one of the hardest spankings of her short life.

A Fabray didn’t embarrass themselves, she’d learned that day. And especially not in public.

But Rachel only led her into the bedroom and cupped her cheek with her hand. “These things happen,” she said, as she always did, every time. “So we’re going to get you cleaned up and into your jammies, and then we’ll watch some cartoons, what do you think about that?”

She couldn’t help that her eyes lit up. “That sounds fun.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Now, do you want a bath?”

There really wasn’t anything that was much nicer than Rachel bathing her, and letting her play with her plastic toys in the tub, but Quinn shook her head. Her humiliation called for something a little different, and somehow, Rachel instinctively knew.

“Okay, then. You stand right here and I’m going to get some things together, all right?”

Quinn nodded mutely, hugging herself. She knew the words she wanted to say, a jumble of _please_ and _thank_ _you_ and _I’m_ _sorry_ and _oh_ _god_ _please_ _don’t_ _leave_ , but coherent thought and speech seemed to vanish each time she felt her mindset floating lower than usual.

On any given time during moments like this, Quinn felt like she was that same five year old, awkward and messy, craving Rachel’s affection desperately. But tonight, she knew she was smaller, an age where if she wanted to talk it would be short and babyish, a feeling where all she wanted to do was curl up in Rachel’s lap – slightly awkward given their height differences – and be rocked and sang to.

Somehow, Rachel always seemed to know just exactly where Quinn’s mindset fell. She puttered in and out of the bathroom, first draping several towels over the bed and a separate one to the side. A small tub of warm soapy water joined the towel, along with a washcloth and baby powder. Then Rachel walked over to the dresser, to the bottom drawer, and Quinn let out a little gasp of excitement when she saw that Rachel had gotten out her favorite light green pajama top and bottoms. They had ruffles along the legs and waist, which Quinn loved to run her fingers along as she let herself relax in Rachel’s comfort.

“I—“ Quinn paused. When she spoke again, her voice was high-pitched, but barely above a whisper.

“Mommy?”

How Quinn’s world shifted and turned on nights like this, with just one word.

“I know,” Rachel said, teasingly. “Somebody wants Lamb.”

“Yes.” Quinn nodded, hard. “Want Lamb, please.”

“Let’s get you out these wet clothes first.” Rachel didn’t wait for Quinn’s acquiescence; she simply reached to pull Quinn’s sundress up over her head and removed her bra, then helped the woman step gingerly out of her underwear. Quinn shivered in the sudden cold of the air conditioner, and Rachel laughed.

“I’m a bad mommy to make my little girl so cold, aren’t I?”

“No!” Quinn surged forward and rested her head against Rachel’s shoulder, nestling herself into the crook of her neck.

“Best mommy.”

“I better be your only mommy,” Rachel teased with a light tap to Quinn’s backside. She kissed her cheek then pulled away.

“Now, up on the bed,” she commanded. “On the towels, and we’ll get you washed and in your pajamas before you can say ‘Lamb.’”

“Mom-my,” Quinn whined, because Rachel was well aware of how much that one object of comfort soothed her, in addition to everything else Quinn’s wife provided her when she was little. Thankfully, Rachel was only a master of teasing maddingly when she wanted to be – and when Quinn wasn’t feeling like a three year old – so in seconds, Quinn’s arms were enfolded around the plush softness of her favorite stuffed animal, and she settled against the towels with a happy sigh.

Rachel pushed Quinn’s knees up and spread them, dipping the washcloth into the warm water and running it softly over Quinn’s skin. Her touch was infinitely tender, making Quinn believe that accidents did really just happen, and that it didn’t have to be met with harsh words and punishment. One hand still clinging to Lamb, the thumb of Quinn’s other hand found its way to her mouth as Rachel continued bathing her, shifting Quinn up a little to clean her bottom.

Rachel was humming, a casual snippet of a lullaby that made Quinn want to sleep. Her head lolled to one side as she sucked her thumb… and that’s when she caught sight of it.

Rachel had insisted on stars for the pull-ups. It had seemed ridiculous to Quinn at the time, but Rachel seemed to love her in them and to Quinn, that was all that mattered. But today it was too much. Her lower lip trembled as she was presented with her humiliation sat right next to her on the bed, and the tears began to trickle from her eyes down her cheeks.

“Hey, no.” Rachel paused as she was patting Quinn dry with one of the towels, and brushed Quinn’s tears away with her thumb. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“Please don’t make me,” Quinn whispered.

Rachel sighed. This was always one of Quinn’s internal struggles. Some days were easier than others. This obviously wasn’t going to be one of those days.

“I would _never_ make you do something you don’t want to,” Rachel reiterated, for what must have been the hundredth time.

“If you want to wear your panties you can do that, Quinn. I just don’t want you to have to have a bath in the middle of the night if you wet yourself again. If you wear the pull-up all we have to do is change it and right back to sleep we go. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“But it’s your choice, baby. You know Mommy will do whatever you want.”

She stared at it for a few seconds, then turned tearful hazel eyes up to Rachel’s soft brown ones.

“I can wear it.”

“That’s my good girl,” Rachel said with a nod. “I’m proud of you.”

She finished drying Quinn, who was by now feeling fuzzy around the edges, acutely aware of her surroundings and what they were doing, yet not quite. She sneezed a bit when Rachel powdered her, causing both of them to laugh, even as Rachel was easing the pull-up over Quinn and settling it snugly around her hips. The material crinkled a little between Quinn’s legs, and she stuck her thumb back in her mouth, ignoring it.

She was just a _baby_ , she thought. A stupid baby who pissed herself and had to wear a damn diaper.

But Rachel was looking at her with such kindness in her eyes that the thoughts left Quinn faster than they’d appeared, and she dutifully lifted up her arms and her hips so that Rachel could dress her.

“You look adorable,” Rachel said approvingly, and Quinn smiled around her thumb. “Now, do you want a nap before dinner? Only an hour though, or you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Yes, please.”

She clambered off the towels and up to the head of the bed, sliding under the covers and pulling them up over her head. The desperation from earlier in the day was gradually fading away, and she felt soft, sweet, playful.

“Quinn? Where’d you go? Quinn?”

Rachel poked at the covers and Quinn squirmed away, giving her first full giggle of the evening.

“Oh, no, where’s my baby?” Quinn could almost hear the pout Rachel was giving. “I’m going to be so sad if I can’t find her.”

“M’right here, mommy,” she said, pulling down the covers and blowing away the blonde hair that had fallen into her face.

“There you are!” Rachel wadded up the towels and dropped them into the now-cold basin of water, stowing it all away into the bathroom to be cleaned up later.

“I missed you.” Quinn rolled over to rest her head against Rachel’s lap when her wife moved to sit on the bed next to her.

“I missed you too, sweetie.” Quinn felt her hair being braided gently; Rachel tied a ribbon tightly around the end and rubbed Quinn’s back.

“Are you okay now?”

Quinn nodded slightly. There was something that would make her feel even better, that would make her forget about everything that had happened that day – at least until next time. But as always, she wasn’t completely sure how Rachel would feel about it.

“Mommy?” she turned her head so that she was looking up at Rachel.

And again, somehow Rachel understood. She always did.

“You _are_ feeling little today, aren’t you?” she said, running her fingers over Quinn’s cheek.

“Yeah. … can I?”

Rachel hesitated, but it wasn’t out of fear or disgust, Quinn knew. It was only out of worry, judging Quinn’s needs against her own, wanting them both to feel comforted and safe. Finally Rachel nodded, shimmying down the bed slightly before she reached up and unbuttoned her blouse.

“But only for a little while, sweetie. Mommy’s a little sore and you need to nap.”

“Thank you, mommy.”

Rachel helped lift Quinn so that the little girl was draped half over her lap, which meant that Quinn was now in full view of Rachel’s breasts. She’d always liked Rachel’s “assets,” even as a teenager smirking while Rachel towered over her on the high school steps ranting about how Quinn apparently had a lot to express. When they had sex Quinn was pretty sure she paid more attention to Rachel’s breasts than anything else, but when they were doing this… it was so, so different.

She smiled, reaching out to gingerly touch a nipple, which immediately hardened. Rachel cupped Quinn’s head and guided her; Quinn latched on and began to suck, softly. Rachel gave a contented sigh and held Quinn close, resting against the headboard.

Rachel didn’t produce milk; she’d never been pregnant, after all.  Quinn was okay with that; though she’d thought a time or two about what it would be like to feel milk swirling into her mouth from her wife’s breast, Quinn didn’t think either she or Rachel were prepared for their relationship to take that level. She was happy enough just to close her eyes, holding close to Lamb as she sucked.

She didn’t do this very often; it had only been recently that Quinn had expressed an interest in it. She’d been terrified, because pull-ups and stuffed animals and baby talk was one thing. Simulated breastfeeding? Completely different. But after a couple of nights of research and actually having to create a chart of the pros and cons, Rachel had, once again, come through to Quinn’s amazement.

As it turned out, she seemed to like it just as much as her wife did. Quinn had long suspected that these moments of play were just as cathartic for Rachel as they were for her, but they’d never really talked about that. A discussion for another time, Quinn guessed.

For now, Rachel’s embrace tightened around Quinn, and the little girl murmured with satisfaction, feeling more secure than she had in a long time.

“You’re my good little girl,” Rachel was saying, rocking Quinn in her arms. “Mommy’s never mad at you for your accidents, baby. You’re a good, brave girl, and I’m so proud of you.”

She was crying again, but they were happy tears this time. Her hand held the smooth, warm weight of Rachel’s free breast; she nuzzled her nose against Rachel’s chest as she continued to suckle, safe in the realization that leaving Quinn would have never, not even once, crossed Rachel’s mind.

At some point Quinn’s eyes had drifted shut; she vaguely felt Rachel repositioning herself so that she could reach her other breast, and once again Quinn took the stiff nipple in her mouth and nursed.

This was heaven, she thought just before she fell asleep: resting in Rachel’s arms, safe and dry, listening as Rachel praised her and kissed her braided hair.

“Good girl, that’s my girl. My pretty baby, go to sleep, sweetheart. I love you, Quinn.”

Rachel woke her up a little over an hour later, tickling her sides until Quinn laughed and pulled herself out of bed to make her way into the living room.

“Burgers?!” she said happily with a sniff, and Rachel grinned.

Rachel had given up her veganism at some point during college, and while Quinn would have supported her no matter what, secretly she was grateful.

“The way to your heart is through your stomach, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes!” She was holding on to Lamb by one of his legs, swinging him as she gave her wife a look that spoke volumes of her adoration, Quinn hoped.

“Can we eat in the living room?”

“Just for tonight, and you have to drink out of your sippy cup.”

Quinn made a face; she didn’t like using a sippy cup when she was little, but there had been that accident where she’d spilled red juice all over one of Rachel’s scripts. After that, Rachel had been adamant.

“Okay, Mommy,” she said, but still punctuated it with a long, dramatic sigh, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I’m supposed to be the actress in this relationship, you know.”

They sat together on the couch, Rachel reaching for the remote to switch on cartoons, but Quinn’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Funny Girl,” she requested quietly.

“That’s an awfully grown-up thing for someone so little to watch,” Rachel commented.

“Please?”

“Ah, fine. Your pout is worse than mine, I swear.”

Quinn rested her head on Rachel’s shoulder as the show started, and they ate their dinner. Tomorrow would be a different day, she thought to herself. Different stresses, different challenges. There might be angry bosses, angry clients who didn’t understand why that particular sentence in their article had to be cut, because after all, their words were their lifeblood, and how dare someone say they only need five hundred of them to get to their point.

But at the end of the day, no matter what she had to deal with or how bad it was, Quinn told herself, there would be Rachel. She watched as her wife – her mommy – beamed over her favorite musical, and Quinn smiled.

There would always be Rachel.

Rachel to let Quinn be herself. To soothe Quinn with praise and make her forget every childhood accident, every fear and failure, every harsh word that had ever been said to her from teachers, from boyfriends, from fathers.

There would always be Rachel Berry with the infinite forgiveness for the girl who had made her high school existence hell, who loved Quinn with a fierceness beyond imagining. A fierceness that included allowing her wife to rage and rant when she needed to, or to cry and be a little girl at heart.

And that made getting stuck on the subway completely worth it.

… well, almost.


End file.
